


Rebirth

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Insanity, M/M, Murder, Psychoteeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A part of Gavin is gone inside, he can feel it, burnt, blackened and dead - leaving holes where his morals and conscious should be from just one opportunity. But from that, something was reborn, something perfect and addictive and terrible but so rewarding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebirth

He thinks that maybe once the screaming stops and the pounding in his ears dies down, that maybe reality will settle into place. That maybe his guts would somehow return and build him up enough to run. To get out of the way and leave him to whatever insanity this all is.

To just try and fucking run.

His whole body feels frozen solid but somehow,  _somewhere_ , the heat is trickling back in sly rivulets; burning his skin and bringing him back to a kind of consciousness - a kind of coherence. But although that clarity is there his body doesn’t react - not one bit. At least, it doesn’t react how the sane part of his mind wants it to.

He watches Joel aim the gun, and feels his heart flutter as the trigger is pulled.

 _Click_.

He hears the rush of the bullet pierce air, hears that oddly hollow sound of the skin of his victim’s neck splitting and yielding. It’s off the target, but as the person falls to the floor he looks pleased. Joel looks so fucking pleased. And Gavin's ears fade out from the screaming, concentrating on that single expression. The smoke clears, and time snaps back to present.

He stares at his capture, his attacker, and soon to be murderer.

And a part of Gavin’s mind burns, blackens and dies. Only to replaced and reborn with Joel's image.

Those maddened eyes and strained grin filling up the dead spaces. An undeniable urge flourishes then; some gut-instinct that he’s somehow enjoying this. That he’s somehow not fazed by the blood lining walls or the other two victims cowering in the room.

The abandoned industrial estate turns from a prison, to a sanctuary. And it hits Gavin that if he were to die, there’d be no fear filling him up - just raw, primal pain. Nothing more, and nothing less. It hits him then, that if Joel was to turn that gun and pull the trigger, bullet crashing right through his skull – that he wouldn’t really mind at all if it meant that he could witness that look,  _that ecstasy_ coming off him in waves.

He never even realises that the only thing stopping Joel from plastering his brains to the wall was his own, awe-struck stare.

Their eyes meet – and there is no snap of electricity. Time does not stop and no tension fills the room. But what builds inside of them that second is evident in their eyes.

An insidious, shared love blossoms from the darkest and most unstable parts of their minds. Gavin feels like a poison has encased him - a drug. Something so pleasurable but utterly lethal has took a hold of him, and with one, single drop he’s addicted - and doesn't want to let go.

And Joel revels in it.

He notices that same look he’s seen so many times before in the mirror. The look that, while washing the congealed blood from his hair and crimson stains from his skin, he's seen in his bathroom mirror. That hunger staring back at him.

Just the idea that someone like Gavin was indulging in his game was enough to make his head spin and pulse race.

The gun shines in his hand as the lights dip and weave into his skin as he moves, pooling into every contour; every secret. It highlights those eyes. That insatiable, maddened hunger flickers and darts across his features.

Gavin watches from the safety of his corner, watches as he rounds on the last two victims; his breathing heavy and loud in the room. Something pierces the pit of his belly, breath shuddering and jolting and he moves to one side.

Not to escape. To get a better look.

If it was anyone else, Joel’s composure would have snapped, his insane-calmness overwhelmed by a madness not many would have seen, or ever would.

But he knows Gavin wasn’t going to escape. He knows the boy wouldn’t even try.

Instead, Joel feels a warmth run over his skin while the Brit watches the gun as he raises it, aiming at some vital organ that he had no intention of sparing his victim with. His eyes capture Gavin’s and don't let go.

Another part of Gavin burns, blackens and dies. Joel pulls the trigger.

 _Click_.

They hear, rather than see, the bullet cut through air and plunge into the stomach of another unfortunate girl. And something is reborn inside the Brit’s heart. Cold and hungry, and so much like Joel’s own.

Screaming fills the air and echoes around the room; no more than a metal container. It lasts for so much longer than the other girl, bleeding out slowly and staining the concrete floor red. Screams turn to mutters. Mutters to whispers. Whispers to one final breath.

And then something  _does_  snap in the room.

Joel takes the hand-gun and holds it up, as though inspecting it. The way his fingers curl around the metal is that of someone tending to a child. Gentle and careful, but by no means weak. He empties the cylinder and the noise of bullets hitting the ground is music in itself. He pulls a new bullet from his back pocket, despite the ones on the ground being perfectly fine.

He loads the gun with just one, shining glint of ammunition and spins the container with a series of clicks. The noise stops, and a tense silence fills the room above the jagged breaths of a single, scared hostage. And in two tense, contemplating minutes – Joel speaks, and Gavin’s stomach flips.

   “I’m going to give you a choice, Gavin.” His voice is husky, barely-there, but Gavin hears it with such clarity that somehow he knows it’s directed at him. The sound of his footsteps edging closer confirms that, and Gavin’s eyes are glued to Joel’s hazy, dark ones. A flicker of anxiety overwhelms him for a second, but not an ounce of fear.

And when his captor leans in, voice grazing over the bruised skin of his neck, the whole scenario feels like normality, Joel’s words a comfort, the hand grabbing his wrist almost intimate. Joel flips his palm upwards and presses the gun into his hand. Fingers curl around his own and pull them tight around the blood-splattered weapon.

   “Shoot him…” Joel mutters, voice gravelly and with a hint of something so enticing that Gavin knows then there's something in his head has snapped and broken. “… _shoot him_ , or be shot.”

It takes him a moment to recover as that breath leaves his neck and Joel’s body pulls away, leaving the gun settled in his hand.

But it only takes a second for him to even decide on what to do.

His head is clear, blood roaring in his ears like a tidal wave. He swallows and steps forward and the fear that passes through the hostage’s eyes sends a spike of adrenaline through his body; he can taste it, bitter-sweet.

   “Don’t…” They wheeze, body visibly shaking. “Please… _please_ …”

Joel’s right behind him, breath on the back of his neck, excitement falling from him in unseen waves and a gentle murmur of encouragements in his ears – and they were so much louder than the pleas for mercy. Gavin lifts the gun, his body aching with something new and exciting, something  _god-awful_  but some unnamed thing he needs  _so much._

He pulls the trigger once and his skin ignites as a sharp click fills the room. No gunshot. No blood. Just a whimper from Gavin’s hostage now, and laboured breathing behind him.

He could have changed his mind with that empty gunshot. He could have caved and given himself up to fear and morals and whatever else drove people to sanity rather than this madness. But he didn’t. And Joel’s desire for him spikes.

He pulls the trigger a second time.

 _Empty_.

A third.

 _Empty_.

A fourth-

The bullet plunges into the man’s chest but all that came out was a gargled groan and a sluggish ooze of red that made Gavin’s skin tingle and his knees weak. His conscious never berated him. His mind didn’t  _once_  scream out at what he’d done. All he could hear was Joel’s slow, deep laugh behind him and those encouragements running across the shell of his ear and across his neck in warm breaths.

Before he realises, the gun is torn from his hand and he feels empty. Incomplete and worthless without that weapon in his palm. But then the manic laughter that fills Joel’s lungs and spills out each time he does this replaces every empty space inside of him, and a rough hand on his shoulder is turning him.

Gavin is met with those darkened eyes, glazed with something he’d never realised he’d loved. The nails piercing his skin shallowly and the rough push of Joel’s hand against him don't once ruin the high he was on, and vacantly, as though in a dream, he realises Joel’s face was splattered in blood, and the feeling intensifies.

   “That was good,” Joel huffs, still laughing and near-vibrating with excitement. “That was good, Gavin. So good…” he repeats the words like some twisted hymn, pressing the Brit into a wall and keeping that eye contact while he laughed, and laughed,  _and laughed_...

Gavin breaths deeply, that oddly metallic smell filling him up and causing a grin to break out onto his face. And Joel knew then that he would spare this one. He would let this one live and better yet keep him close.

Joel moves his hand across the back of Gavin’s neck, pulling him in until their foreheads are pressed together. Joel closes his eyes, hiding the amusement in them and Gavin watches, completely mesmerised and noticing the drop of blood clinging to one of Joel’s eyelashes.

The pounding in Gavin’s ears dies down to a low, pleasant hum.

He thinks, distantly, that this is when his guts should return. That, in this moment, is when he should try and run, try and leave the insanity that’s gripping him tight. That he should just fucking run that second.

But the sound of Joel’s breathy laughter draws him in and the blur of red in the corners of his eyes sends a shiver down his spine.

A part of Gavin is gone inside, he can feel it, burnt, blackened and  _dead -_ leaving holes where his morals and conscious should be from just one opportunity. But from that, something was reborn, something perfect and addictive and terrible but  _so rewarding_.

 

Instead of thinking about survival or some form of redemption - all he can think; is when he and Joel would kill again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to reblog or like this fic on tumblr: http://teaandotherstuff.tumblr.com/post/56094671098/rebirth


End file.
